To the Flame
by AbsentAngel
Summary: She stares, transfixed, as the blood runs down his fingers and begins to pool in his palm. He holds his hand up to her lips in offering, and she tears her eyes away from the blood to study his face. He is smiling softly. "Go on Luce, I didn't cut them for nothing." [Vamp AU] [NaLu]
1. A Prima Vista (At First Sight)

_._

_._

_"we get bored with the routine_

_and crave beauty _

_and excitement _

_fire is beautiful _

_and we know that if we get _

_too close it will kill us _

_but what does that matter_

_it is better to be happy _

_for a moment_

_and be burned up with beauty _

_than to live a long time and be bored all the while"_

_- Don Marquis, "the lesson of the moth"_

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><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

**To the Flame**

**Chapter#1: ****A Prima Vista **

**_(At First Sight)_**

**(:)(A)(:)**

* * *

><p>She sits at the same bench, in the same park, every night.<p>

Sometimes it rains, every now and then it snows, but the clear, cloudless nights are her favorite. She has made friends with the stars, has made a father out of the Moon, and she greets them all like the old friends they are. When the leaves begin to fall she admires Aquarius's beauty and Capricorn's determination. When ice begins to spider web over the earth she looks forward to basking Aries' warm smiles and Taurus's passion. In the spring, Leo winks at her and sends her budding flowers and serenades her in birdsong. She accepts it all with a smile.

She tracks time by the length and frequency of their visits. She no longer uses words like 'years' or 'weeks'. She used to make notches on the wooden slat of the bench every time Cancer visited her summer sky (he likes to remind her that she is beautiful) but while she was asleep the bench was replaced and she has since lost track. Now, instead of using visits, she measures in written pages.

In an abandoned room, in an abandoned building she calls home, she keeps shelves lined with the broken spines of adopted books and spiral bound journals full of stories she has painted. She treasures the books because they are her only link to worlds outside her own, and she cherishes the words she's written because they are the only thing she is able to give birth to. They are her only family.

Her friends in the night sky come and go, the blank pages of journals fill and get filed away on the designated shelf. Around her things are always changing. Buildings grow higher and trees fatten. Sometimes she thinks she recognizes a boy in the face of a man. Time does not touch her. Her hair stays blonde and does not lengthen farther past her shoulders. Her hands do not wrinkle with age. She is the pin holding the hands of a clock, watching them all move around her as she remains unchanged and constant.

So she sits, the worn bench welcoming underneath her and the lamplight overhead illuminating her blank pages with artificial warmth. Every night she waits for inspiration to find her. Sometimes she sees it in the face of the rare stranger, other times it is in the shadow of the children's playground slide in the form of an abandoned Happy Meal toy. Last night she wrote the story for the coke can that was left half full and teetering on the lid of a trashcan.

Tonight she spies an empty pack of cigarettes half buried at the base of an ancient oak tree. Its label has faded, but she can see that once upon a time it bore the proud Morley logo. Words flow from her ball point pen as she imagines the owner of said box. A man, she decides. A man with bleach blonde hair slicked back, blue eyes, and cheek bones that could cut glass. He is impulsive and crude, with a sneer that could either terrify or draw women closer. He is all hard angles and roughened edges, and he would have tossed that little scrap of cardboard over his shoulder without second thought or a moments regret.

She lets herself become immersed in the story, intent on discovering why such a man of leather and whiskey would come to the park, when she hears the soft sound of rubber soles shuffling against the paved pathway. She doesn't spare the intruder a glance - she has already found tonight's inspiration and she will not abandon it until the story is told.

In all two hundred and thirty-two bounded notebooks she has always sat alone and undisturbed, so she is unprepared when she feels the warmth of a blood filled body brush against her shoulder. Her spine stiffens at the foreign feeling and she looks at the perpetrator in confusion.

The face of a young man fills her vision. He is grinning at her, his lips pulled so wide that his cheeks dimple at the edges. His skin is tan from his time spent under the suns warm gaze and his unusually colored hair piques the interest of her writer's heart (she has never seen pink hair before and knows there must be a story behind it). His eyes are so dark she can barely make out the green hiding in his irises. She finds it strange that his eyes can be dark when his gaze is so warm and inviting. "You don't mind if I sit here, right?" he asks, and she feels his voice slide against her skin. It is not uncomfortable, she decides, but it is foreign.

She isn't sure if she does or not so, for now, she only answers back with her own question. "Why are you here?"

He blinks, momentarily surprised, and then his wide smile sinks into something softer around the corners. She thinks she might see a dusting of pink at the ridges of his cheeks, but under the warm glow of the lamplight she couldn't be sure. "You, uh, looked lonely."

Lonely? She does not remember the last time she felt lonely. She thinks it must have been around the same time when the sharp, stabbing pain of hunger became something normal. Something numb. "I'm not."

He seems confused by this. "But you're always out here by yourself." His fingers loosen the white scarf around his neck and gestures to the tall building on the other side of the park. "I always see you from my apartment."

She really isn't sure what he's asking (or if he's even asking anything) so she merely nods. "I come here every night."

"Why?"

She blinks, because to her the answer is obvious. "This is my bench."

He blinks back. "Um, ok." He rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly fishing for conversation. She wonders why he hasn't left yet. "So, what do you do at ... your bench?"

"I tell stories," she says simply, and is reminded of the notebook on her lap. She taps the pen against the page, trying to decide if the man with the Morley smokes would have come to the park for a brawl or for a girl. Maybe both, she thinks.

Her companion frowns, glancing around the empty park skeptically and his brows drawing together. "To _who_?"

For some reason the way he says it makes an unfamiliar emotion stir in her chest. It's hot and makes her hands itch. Again, she wonders why he is still there. "Just because they aren't shared doesn't mean they don't exist." The point of her pen indents the paper but her voice remains the same neutral drawl. She is constant, unchanging, even if this boy tries to make her be otherwise.

For a moment his eyes flick to the wire bound paper in her hands and comprehension seems to light his eyes. "Oh! You mean you _write_ stories."

To her it is the same thing. She gives stories - gives a history - to the aluminum can, the broken toy, the empty package of cigarettes, and she archives it in her pages. She investigates and finds details of their past and tells it in ink so that a piece of them will live forever in the form of words. This boy next to her, full of bright enthusiasm, doesn't understand though. She can tell.

She doesn't offer to enlighten him.

"Will you read me one?" he asks. His voice sounds hopeful.

Frowning, she looks at the half filled page on her lap. "I don't know if they want to be told."

His nose crinkles in confusion but there is laughter in his eyes. "Of course they do! What's the point in writing stories if you're never going to share them?"

She hesitates, eyeing the boy carefully. Is it selfish of her to paint a picture only for herself? Yes, now that she thinks about it, she decides it must be. Still, she eyes him uncertainly. "I don't think they are the sort of stories you like." He seems like the kind of person more interested in action and adventure, she feels that her stories will only bore him.

She expects him to assure her, she sort of remembers people doing that a long time ago, so he surprises her when he tilts his chin and eyes her curiously. "Why? What are they about?"

She doesn't answer, her eyes are trained on the steadily lightening skyline. Dawn is hesitating at the horizon and she knows she can not be caught in its grasp. She closes her notebook and hugs it tightly to her chest as she stands. "I have to leave." Then, as an after thought (because she is not used to having to mind her manners) she adds a brisk "goodbye" before turning to leave.

"Wait!" His hand encircles her arm and she can feel the heat of his palm through her jacket. "What's your name?"

Her name? She thinks of her rows of notebooks, neatly organized from oldest to newest. The one at the very beginning - pink with red splotches that look like stains - has a name on the cover. "Lucy." The moment the it leaves her lips she is sure she is right.

Above them the lamp hums and somehow the artificial light makes his smile look even brighter. "Hi Lucy. I'm Natsu."

Natsu. His name sounds like summer, and brings fragmented images of carefree days splashing in cool lake waters with the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. It suits him.

"Would it be ok if I, uh, you know." He gestured to the bench behind them, his face nervously hopeful. "Saw you again tomorrow?"

She agrees with a nod before she can give herself enough time to really think about it. Lucy blames the distracting warmth of his hand and the impending sunrise for the hasty decision, but doesn't take it back as she walks away towards the place she calls home.

The impression of his warm hand lingers on her arm long after she places her notebook on the shelf.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>For anyone waiting for the next chapter of Ignite, please be patient with me. On Monday I lost nearly all of my writing - over 10k words - because I'm a moron and didn't back up my shit. I'm now forced to rewrite everything, including some chapters (including the next one) that were complete and only in need of editing.

Needless to say, rewriting is painful. I cried my good cry and am more or less moving on (but damn does it hurt whenever I go to rewrite the scenes). So, like I said, PLEASE be patient with me. It WILL get done, but it's going to be an agonizingly slow process. If the next chapter isn't out next week it WILL be the week after. I figure the pain isn't going to go away until I've caught up to where I was so I'm going to be working my ass off this month to get there. I've gone a good 12 weeks uploading something once a week and I'm not going to let this setback fuck that up for me.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this. Chapters are most likely going to remain fairly short and sporadic. It kinda started when I realized that no one ever made the female characters into the vamps ... and it just ... kinda ... grew.

Lucy is going to be a bit OOC to start. There is a reason that will be revealed later (you know, other than the psychological repercussions of completely shutting yourself off from society ... we'll be exploring that too though (because damn it I'm feeling angsty)).

And yes, the blonde character with the killer cheekbones is Spike from Buffy. He's just so yummy I couldn't resist.

**Please remember:** If you like it enough to fav/follow then please like it enough to spend the extra minute or two to review! Especially since, you know, I'm kinda crying inside and could seriously use the pick me up.


	2. Sogni D'Oro (Golden Dreams)

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_._

_"Just like a star across my sky, _

_Just like an angel off the page, _

_You have appeared to my life,_

_Feel like I'll never be the same"_

_-Like A Star, Corrine Bailey Rae_

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><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

**To the Flame**

**Chapter #2: Sogni D'Oro**

_**(Golden Dreams)**_

**(:)(A)(:)**

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><p>The next night she is surprised to find him already waiting for her. His arms are crossed over his chest and his left knee is bouncing wildly as he frowns up at the sky. She wonders if he is having a disagreement with some of the stars.<p>

She watches silently as he pulls some sort of device from his coat pocket. The bright screen illuminates his face and she can see a crease of concern developing between his brows. He mumbles something incoherently under his breath. In the cold, she can see the words curl from his lips in a fine mist but is unable to read them. She sort of wishes she could.

"You're here."

She doesn't know what else to say, what to feel. For the second night in a row there is a pink haired stranger sitting on her bench. Only - no ... that isn't quite right. He isn't stranger. He has name. He told it to her. Natsu? Yes, that's right. The boy of sun and summer smiles.

He visibly jumps, his head snapping towards the sound of her voice. "Lucy?" His eyes are squinting and she realizes that she is still hidden in the shadows. To him she is invisible, a floating voice. She steps forward and lets the light overhead wash over her skin.

His expression melts into one of relief and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I was starting to think I got stood up."

She doesn't understand - she _is_ standing - but she supposes he must mean that he thought she might not come. She wonders if he is stupid. Just in case, she repeats her words from the previous night. "This is my bench."

His hand tugs at his scarf in what seems to be habit, his smile barely faltering. "Right, uh ..." He scoots over to give her room to sit. "Here. I kept it warm for ya!"

She stares at the spot he has left her before her eyes travel over his bright smile. "It is the wrong side."

He blinks, his face falling in confusion as he looks from her, to the bench, and back. "Oh." He shifts over to the other side. "Uh, sorry?"

She nods, accepting his apology, and takes her place on the left hand side of the bench. She eyes his hair curiously and he stares back at her with an eyebrow raised. If he was a stranger passing by she would have written a story about that hair. She would have explored the shade and given it a name - 'Salmon' she thinks. But sitting next to him she realizes that for once she has the opportunity to _hear_ a story instead of telling one. The observation makes her feel strangely giddy.

"Why is your hair pink?" she asks, her eyes never leaving the bright strands.

He looks embarrassed. "Oh, that?" He rubs the back of his neck, just above his scarf where the pink hairs are short, his grin turning sheepish. "I kinda lost a bet with one of my friends. I have to keep it like this for a whole year." He gives her a shy smile. "It doesn't look too terrible does it?"

It doesn't. In fact, she can't imagine him any different so she shakes her head. "No, it is a good story."

He seems pleased by her answer even if he doesn't seem to completely understand it. His eyes brighten and he runs a hand through his stubborn pink locks with a soft smile. "Thanks."

She reaches up and gently takes a lock of his hair between her fingers, ignoring the way he suddenly sputters her name and leans away from her. The strands are softer than she expects. "What is it called?" she asks.

"W-what?!"

Her eyes lower to his face. His eyes are wide and his face is beginning to rival the color of his hair. She wonders if he is sick - she thinks she remembers that fevers cause flushing - but he seemed fine just a moment ago so she decides not to concern herself with it. "The color," she clarifies, giving the pink lock a little tug. "Does it have a name?"

For a moment his mouth gapes wordlessly and then he releases a loud breath that sounds like a cross between a sigh and a laugh. The color slowly fades from his cheeks. "Uh, probably? I don't remember. I kinda just grabbed it off the shelf, you know?"

She frowns, disappointed, and removes her hand and settles it on her lap. "What was the bet?" She is curious. She wants to know the story - maybe she can even immortalize it in her pages.

"Ah..." He eyes her thoughtfully for a moment. "You know, it's kinda an embarrassing. But," he taps the journal still sitting snuggly on her lap with a grin, "If you you read me one of your stories, I'll tell you. How does that sound?"

She mulls it over before nodding. "That is fair."

Her eyes scan the park, looking for inspiration, when he coughs awkwardly in his hand. "You, uh, gonna open it?" He gestures to her notebook.

She frowns at him. "I already told those stories. I have to tell a new one." She tells a new one every night, the items she has collected in her notebook have already been given pasts, she must do the same for something else now. It is her purpose.

"Oh, ok." She can tell by the confused crease in his forehead that he doesn't understand, but she appreciates that he is silent anyway.

Finally, her russet colored eyes land on something suitable. She points towards the monkey bars. "Do you see that bandaid?" she asks.

Following her finger, he squints and then slowly nods. "Uh, yeah. I see it."

"It came off a little girls knee," she says, eyes glazing. Invisible threads are dancing in front of her. She plucks and twists the strands, weaves them into something tangible. "Her name is Margret and she is six years old. Her hair is dark brown and thick, like her father's, but her eyes are wide and hazel like her mother's. They live in a big mansion on a few acres with lots and lots of tall willow trees that she likes to climb. She likes to pretend the branches are the crows nest of a pirate ship."

Words are stringing together faster than she can say them, piling up and pushing from her lips with fervor. "A few days ago she slipped and skinned her knee on the rough bark but she kept playing anyways because pirates don't cry over scratches. When her father saw the blood he was angry and forbade her from playing in the trees anymore because it wasn't lady like and she was too old for those kinds of games..."

Her eyes darken, her brows pulling in thought as she stares at the bloody bandaid laying in the playground bark. "She cried because the trees were her friends and she didn't want to leave them, so to make her feel better her mother brought her here, to the park. She never noticed when the bandaid came off."

Satisfied, she turns to her companion. He is staring at her as if he has never seen her before - his eyes wide and his mouth slightly parted. For a moment she stares back at him but she quickly grows impatient. "It's your turn now," she prods.

He shakes himself, as if coming out of some kind of daze. "No, wait! What happened next?"

She frowns, confused. "Next?"

"Yeah. What happened when they got to the park?" His eyes are wide, bright, and full of innocent curiosity. For a moment, he looks more like a boy than a man, and she feels something like regret settle on her shoulders.

"I don't know." She only paints pasts, not futures.

He looks at her strangely, as if he feels lost, and then his mouth curls into a stubborn grin. "You know what I think?" he asks, but continues before she can guess. "I think she was still really upset when she got here. In fact, she was so upset that she didn't even want to play!"

He leans towards her, his eyes bright and burning with the reflection of the light above them. "But then a little boy her age came along. He took her hand and invited her to play with him on the swings. They made each other smile."

She is intrigued, and decides to wrap herself in the web he's weaving instead of reminding him about the other story he owes her. "What is his name?" she asks. She is ensnared in the future he has woven, cocooned in the soft silk fibers.

Stumped, he pauses. "Uh, I don't know. George?" Her nose crinkles and he hastily tries again. "How about Sam?"

The corners of her mouth tug into a wistful smile as she stares out at the park. "Sam is a good name." Visions of children playing dance like ghosts in front of her eyes. She sees Margaret laughing and smiling as a faceless boy pushes her on the swing. "What does he look like?"

He pauses for a moment, humming in thought. "Blonde hair and blue eyes, I think."

She nods, finding the description appropriate. But no matter how long she stares at the little boy pushing Margaret his hair stays pink, his eyes remain a bottomless green, and his wide smile is warm like summer. Margaret's hair begins to bleed gold until, suddenly, she is replaced by a little blonde girl with doe brown eyes that she is afraid to recognize.

For the first time in a long, long time, she too finds herself wondering what comes next.

"Tell me more," she whispers.

There is a desperation stirring in her chest. She wants him to keep telling her the future and let it unfold in phantom images in front of her eyes. Above them the humming of the street lamp, a noise as constant as herself, seems louder.

He humors her, spins stories about youthful adventure and everlasting friendship. When the horizon begins to lighten, and she has to leave, he ends it with, "They lived happily ever after."

As she walks away, the sunrise on her heels, she hopes that she will see him again.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Um, yeah - so the title and summary changed. I kinda got so excited with the first chapter I posted sooner than I should have - sorry! For those of you that saw the previous summary ... congrats. You got a sneak peek into the future of this fic. For those of you just joining us, uh, sorry?

I'm playing with idea of making this into a 'M' rating for future chapters ... the whole vampire and sex thing just kinda goes hand in hand you know? Or maybe that's just the NaLu Love Fest on Tumblr infecting my brain (ten more days you guys!). Maybe I'll put it to a vote ...

Your thoughts?

Thank you for your feedback! It means the world to hear your responses! I'm curious if you guys are seeing the symbols (there are several) yet. Let me know!

**Please remember – If you like it enough to Fav/Follow, PLEASE like it enough to leave a review at least once!**

(P.S. For those of you also following Ignite, you're probably looking at an update towards the end of the month. I'll be devoting the next two weeks to my contribution to NaLu Love Fest starting October 19 – hopefully that will satisfy your NaLu cravings in the meantime! *wink*)

_Update 10/16: I lied. The summary changed back to the original because damn it I'm indecisive like that. I'm done though. I won't change it again. _

_... probably. _


	3. Sto Rotto (I am Broken)

_._

_._

_"And scars are souvenirs you'll never lose_

_The past is never far_

_And did you lose yourself somewhere out there?_

_Did you get to be a star?_

_And don't it make you sad to know that life_

_Is more than who we are?"_

_-Name, Goo Goo Dolls_

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><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

**To The Flame**

**Chapter #3: Sto Rotto **

**_(I am Broken)_**

**(:)(A)(:)**

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><p>He meets her at her bench at least every other story, and the image of him sitting there – the device he calls a phone lighting up his face – has become more expected than not. Now whenever she walks to the park and finds her bench empty she feels off balance. She thinks that perhaps this feeling is the loneliness that he spoke of the first time they met, but she can't be sure.<p>

Tonight he is waiting for her, but instead of his phone there is brightly colored bag perched on his lap. His hand disappears into it with a metallic crinkle, his eyes leisurely staring out into the shadowed playground. When it reappears it is to pop something into his mouth. He is eating something that crunches as he chews and coats his fingertips in orange powder. When he hears her footsteps he pauses, his eyes landing on her form the moment she steps into the lamp light's reach. His wide grin is both warm and contagious.

"Hey Luce!" Quickly, he scoots over in order to leave her plenty of space to sit. "I kept your spot warm for ya like always!"

She greets him with a nod, her own lips curling ever so slightly at the corners. She does not remember when (or why) he has given her the nickname, but she has come to expect it from his lips more so than the one she gave him. She takes her place next to him, eyes casually taking note of his printed t-shirt and cargo shorts. He still wears his white scarf - he always does. She is curious about it, but the one time she asked about its story Nastu had merely said it was a gift. His expression was so somber she did not press him for more details, despite the curious itch it gave her writing hand.

He tugs at the light jacket that hungs loosely off her shoulders. "Aren't you hot in that? It's like, 80 degrees out."

She shakes her head. She does not feel the heat or cold. For her, clothing is a matter of modesty, not comfort. "I am fine."

He raises a skeptical eyebrow but shrugs it off. "If you say so." The bag in his hand crinkles as he grabs another snack. As he noisily chews, he holds it out to her. "Want one?"

She peers into the bag. It seems to be half full of strange orange colored puffs that resemble styrofoam more than food. She decides against it, shaking her head.

Natsu merely shrugs. "Your loss." He pops another in his mouth, looking at her from the corner of his eye. There is an amused smile curling his mouth. "So, what's tonights story?"

After a moments consideration, she settles for the broken Tonka truck that is half buried in the sandbox. Natsu listens, like he always does, as she tells its story (a boy named Michael broke it while playing with his older brother Jordan). Once she is done her eyes look to the pink haired man beside her, as she always does, and lets herself become lost in his voice as he tells her the future. It is like this every night with him. She always paints the past and he the future.

He always ends it with 'happily ever after'.

Her mind whispers that different stories shouldn't all have the same ending, but she brushes it aside. She's not sure how she feels about 'ever after', but she likes the idea of 'happily' too much to consider giving it up.

As she transcribes words onto lined pages she tries to remember how many notebooks he has helped her fill, but can't seem to grasp the number. It disturbs her, because she feels as though that is a detail she should know. She asks Natsu, but he answers her in months instead of pages.

"Uh, winter was just ending. So maybe since March?" He shrugs, giving her a bright smile. There is an orange powder lingering at the corner of his mouth - the shade matches the fingers on his right hand. "So I guess that would make it about five months now. Time sure flies, huh?"

She returns his smile softly, despite the fact that he is speaking a language of time that she can't comprehend. "Yes." In truth, it seems as if she has always come to expect him to be there. It is hard to remember the time when he wasn't there to greet her with his summer grin.

He holds the bag out to her in offering. "You sure you don't want some?"

Curiousity wins her over, and her hand reaches in after a moments hesitation and pulls out what looks to her to be a orange powdered piece of packing foam. She eyes it skeptically, holding it away from her. "What is it?"

The look he gives her implies that he is stunned by her question. "It's a Cheeto Puff." She frowns down at it, wondering exactly what a 'cheeto' is made of. He must see her confusion. "You've never had Cheetos?" Now he sounds appalled. "Where have you been!?"

She frowns, ignoring his first question since she is pretty sure it was only rhetorical anyway. "I come here every night." Sometimes he asks such silly questions. He knows that she always comes here - she has told him.

"Well, yeah, but what do you eat?" She remains awkwardly silent and he quickly shakes his head. "Never mind. I forgot that girls don't talk about that stuff." He looks embarrassed that he even asked. "Just try it!"

She is still unsure, but because it is Natsu she puts the odd looking thing in her mouth. It tastes like ash and sticks unpleasantly to her the roof of her mouth like saturated foam. Her nose wrinkles in distaste but she forces herself to swallow it down.

Natsu seems perplexed. "Really? You don't like it?" She shakes her head and he slumps in the seat, a defeated - yet still fond - chuckle escaping him. "Wow Luce. You sure are weird. I don't think I've met anyone who doesn't like Cheetos."

Her tongue is still prodding at the remaining food stuck to her back molar as she eyes the orange bag in his hand with mixed feelings. She is not surprised that she is alone in not liking the (supposedly) cheese flavored snack - it is not the first time she was proven to be different. "It is because I am broken," she says absently, as way of explanation.

Immediately his carefree amusement falls from his face and is replaced by a shocked, almost appalled look. "_What_?" His voice is a breathy hiss - it doesn't fit him. It is too tragic sounding.

She wonders why he didn't hear her - she did not whisper. She tilts her head, eyeing him strangely as she repeats herself. "I am broken."

An emotion she hasn't seen from him before sharpens and heats his gaze as his hands abandon his bag of cheese flavored styrofoam snacks to cradle either side of her face. She can feel the gritty cheese flavoring on the tips of his fingers as his palms burn her marble cheeks. "Who told you that?" His voice is different. It is edged and raw, and she is confused by the passion behind it. In his eyes the reflection of the lamplight looks like a burning flame.

"I ... don't remember." She doesn't. She only knows that someone must have at some point. She knows with the same certainty as she knows that it is true. She was made wrong.

His finger twitches against her cheek. He seems to be holding himself back from something, but she isn't sure what. His voice is so low, so fierce, she can almost feel it in her chest. "Listen to me, Luce. You are **not** broken. Ok? Don't talk like that."

She is though, she knows she is. There is something in her that made her wrong. She doesn't understand why he is so upset by it. "You are angry," she says, her eyes evaluating. "Why?"

The sharp edge in his gaze drops immediately, softening into something somber. "Not at you," he murmurs, brows drawn. He must see the question in her eyes because he continues with a sigh. "Whoever told you that ... they're just some idiot who doesn't know what they're talking about. Ok? Don't listen to them."

"But it is true." She still does not understand why he is upset.

The muscle in his jaw jumps and his hands drop from her cheeks to rest on her shoulders. His grip is firm, she can feel the individual imprints of his fingers indenting her skin through her jacket, but it is not painful. "No. It's not."

She is lost, his emotions are so very deep she feels as if they may drown her. "But I don't mind that I am broken." Her head tilts, her lips turning into a little frown at the corners. "Do you?"

He pauses, his body stiffening. His eyes trace hers thoughtfully, his brows drawn in a mixture of concern and something else she can't seem to place. "Luce ... I want you to listen really carefully, alright?" She nods - she is always listening because he is Natsu. He is the only one that meets her at her bench, the only one that talks to her and makes her smile. "You're not broken - you're perfect. I like you just the way you are."

He is wrong, but she doesn't tell him. There is a stubborn gleam in his eye that tells her he either can't, or won't, understand. Broken things, _flawed_ things, can not be perfect - can not be fixed. Even if she was glued back together there would be spider webbed scars visible to anyone who bothered to look. She knows this, has lived with this, and is at peace with it. Relieved even.

She would rather be made wrong than be made _right_.

Natsu's face is so grim, so serious, she wants to smooth it all away until he looks like himself again. She does not want him to be upset, so she nods instead of repeating the truth. She brings her hand to his cheek the way he did to her only moments before. She had felt comforted by the action when he did it, so she hopes it will have a similar effect on him as well. "I like you the way you are too," she says, because if he will not accept one truth she feels that she should give him another.

Pink spreads across his cheeks and his eyes widen. Lucy feels a little bit lighter at the sight.

He looks more like Natsu now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>There might be a Halloween chapter next ... hopefully appearing on Halloween. Hopefully. Actually, no, I lied. There WILL be a Halloween chapter. It's just a matter of whether it's going to be on time. Even though I also need to get the next chapter of "_Ignite"_ out before then ... and finish the NaLu Love Fest prompts ... uhg, I'm a glutton for punishment.

On another note, this story has been changed to an 'M' rating. There is one particular scene that is already written that I felt was a little on the riské side so I felt it was an appropriate change. Whether there will be a full on lemon is something that I'll decide later.

If you are in the mood for some smut, there are some lime and lemon flavored one shots released (and some more on the way) in honor of the NaLu Love Fest! Hopefully they are enjoyable - they are my first!

**As always, if you like this fic enough to fav/follow then I sincerely hope you will take an extra few moments to review! **This fic has kinda become my little gem even if "Ignite" is the one getting more attention.

Thank you to all who have been so supportive!


	4. Tutto Hallows Vigilia (All Hallows Eve)

_._

_._

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

_-Goo Goo Dolls, Iris_

* * *

><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

**To The Flame**

**Chapter #4: Tutto Hallows Vigilia**

_**(All Hallows Eve)**_

**(:)(A)(:)**

* * *

><p>On her way to her bench she sees approximately one devil, two angels, a cowboy, five different versions of a princess, a bride, at least ten super heroes, and three ghosts. It is only as she sees Super Man trading candy with one of the ninja turtles that she remembers there is a holiday for this sort of thing, and that the world must not be going completely crazy after all. When she turns the last corner to get to her park, she smiles as she passes Snow White and wonders if her prince is nearby.<p>

When she arrives at her bench it is empty, and she pushes away the feeling of disappointment before it can fully form. There have been several occasions where he has arrived after her now – something about a change in his 'shift' (whatever that means) – so she will hold onto the little thread of hope until dawn burns it away. Neatly, she opens her notebook with tender hands, carefully turning to the next blank page. Her pen taps against the paper. She can't decide if she should give a story to the broken plastic tiara she saw about a mile back or the pair of tennis shoes she spotted dangling in the tree on the other side of the play ground with its laces tied. Eventually she decides on the tiara, knowing that the shoes will most likely wait for her at least until tomorrow.

She is just starting the second paragraph when a shadow passes over the page, blocking the yellow light from the street lamp. When she lifts her eyes she is greeted by a woman with long dark hair and darker eyes. Her lips are stained a deep red, her eyes lined with smoky coal, and her face powdered to perfection. The crimson dress she is wearing is adorned with intricate black lace, and hugs her provocative curves tightly. It doesn't shy away from showing her ample cleavage and toned thighs. Her black leather boots end just above her knee and have a dangerous point to the heel, but the look in her eye is sharper.

There is a sick turning in her stomach, but Lucy can't seem to figure out why.

"Well, well, look who I found." A slender finger runs lightly against the line of her jaw, and Lucy withholds a shudder. The woman's hands are not like Natsu's. They are beautiful, but they are cold and hard – like marble.

Like her own.

Lucy recoils from the contact, but the woman grips her chin between her fingers before she can fully flee, her nails digging into her flesh as she forces her russet colored eyes to her dark ones. Lucy withholds a grimace. "Who am I? You've forgotten haven't you?" Lucy says nothing. She has no words, no concrete memories of the woman before her – only the sick twisting in her stomach associated with disgust. She can smell blood on the women's hands. She wonders if she paints her nails with it.

The dark haired woman scoffs – a dainty sound, but it is heavy with disgust and tinged with malice. The hand on Lucy's chin tightens, and she feels her face contort into the smallest of winces before she forces her expression to become impassive. Instinct tells her that submitting to this women would do more harm than good.

Her face is released, the woman's hand snapping back and sneering as if she is disgusted by her. "I don't know why I'm surprised. You always were so pathetic. Really, it's a miracle that you're still around at all." The woman raises a haughty chin, staring down at the blonde with cold, calculating eyes. "Though you really must have lost it to choose here of all places." Red lips curl darkly at the corners, as if she is laughing at a silent joke that Lucy has no chance of hearing.

Lucy's mouth tightens into a frown. "This is my bench," she says firmly, her eyes hardening in defiance.

The woman laughs, but it is dark and it pierces the air around them with the subtlety of a knife. "Oh Kitten, you really are _too_ amusing."

Kitten ... The word strikes a chord in her, something deep that echoes of hard times past. Memories clamor and overlap each other, and it is like the rapid revisiting of a long forgotten photo album. This woman of tainted smiles and sharp eyes had always loved taunting her with that little nickname – found vindictive pleasure in reminding her that she is nothing but a helpless, crying infant with nothing but baby teeth and pinpricks for claws. "Minerva." Her name burns like acid on her tongue.

A single sculpted eyebrow raises. "Oh, you remember now do you?" Hands with filed, sharpened tips for nails plant themselves on either side of her, gripping the back of the bench and caging her. Minerva's cold marble cheek brushes against hers with terrifying friction, and Lucy feels the hairs on her arms stand on end as cold breath hisses past her ear. "As you should. Pathetic scavengers like you would do well to remember their betters."

Lucy is hardly listening, her ears are too trained on the familiar sound of approaching footsteps. Her spine stiffens in horror just as his voice confirms her suspicions. "Luce?" Minerva pulls away from her just enough so that Lucy can see the conflicting look of confusion and suspicion furrowing his brow as he glances between them. "Everything ok here?"

It takes less than a second for Minerva's expression to change from a twisted sneer and into an enticing smile. "And who might you be?" she purrs, straightening and sashaying her way over to where Natsu is standing warily. Lucy does not like the hungry look in the woman's eyes, nor does she like the way Minerva casually settles her hands around his neck - her fingers coyly playing with the strands of pink hair at the nape. "You look good enough to eat."

Natsu looks uncomfortable, his eyes flicking from the woman draped over him to Lucy. He must see some of her fear in her expression because his face hardens and he is quick to unlatch the dark haired woman's hands from behind his neck. "Not really any of your business." Once he's escaped her hold, he steps back and gives her minimal clothing a skeptical glance. "What are you suppose to be, anyway?"

Minerva's smile is dark, full of amusement that Lucy knows he won't understand. She openly runs a tongue across a too pointed tooth. "Why, a vampire of course. Couldn't you tell?"

His nose crinkles. "Not really, no. You look more like prostitute. Maybe you should try harder next year."

Her dark eyes flash, and Lucy quickly jumps in between them before the Minerva's temper flares. Immediately, the angry twist of her painted mouth is replaced by grim amusement. "Oh Kitten, do you really think _you_ can keep him from _me_?"

Behind her she can practically feel Natsu bristle. "I think you really ought to leave." His voice is edged. If he was addressing anyone else Lucy thinks he'd almost sound dangerous, but she knows what this woman of marble and satin smiles is capable of.

Minerva doesn't even spare him a glance, her eyes are pinned on her own russet colored orbs. Lucy stares right back, her voice calm even though her body is rigid. "You are trespassing." She does not belong here. This is her bench, her park. Minerva knows better. It is their way.

She raises a manicured eyebrow, seeming one part skeptical and another part impressed. "Ah, so the little kitten still has some claws after all." She waves her manicured hand flippantly, her body already turning away from them. "No matter, it's only a matter of time before they rot with the rest of you" She gives Natsu another cursory glance. It is deliberately slow, and even Lucy can see the suggestion behind it. "Let me know when you get tired of playing story time with little Lu Lu here." She sends him a dark wink, "I'll make it so good you'll be begging to stay."

Her hips sway sensually as she walks away, the sound of her heeled boots echoing ominously with every predatory step. Lucy watches carefully as her form bleeds into the shadows and feels only a small amount of relief. It is only when the sound of her heeled boots begin to fade that she lets herself relax

The moment she is out of their range of hearing, Natsu's hands go to her shoulders and gently turn her so that she is facing him. He looks one part baffled and another part angry. "Ok, I'm definitely missing something here." His mouth dips into a stern frown. "What does that mean? The whole 'you're trespassing' thing? And who the hell was that?" His eyes flash with the same intensity as when she told him she was broken. "Was she bothering you?"

She shakes her head. He is asking too many questions when she only has some of the answers. She decides to focus on his first inquiry.

"This is my bench," she explains, her eyes tracing over his face. She knows it is more than that - knows it isn't just about the bench being hers or the park being the closest thing she has to sanctuary. By their laws, Natsu was hers the moment he sat next to her, the very second she spoke to him and called him by name. But she knows he wouldn't understand, and it is not something she feels she can explain. It is feeling, instinct.

She can tell by the baffled look on his face that he still doesn't understand her simplified answer. He shakes his head. "Right, of course." The way he mumbles makes her think that he is annoyed with her, but he continues softly before she can apologize. "Luce, seriously, who was that?"

She doesn't answer his question, even though she knows the importance of names. There is an anxiety clawing in the emptiness of her chest whispering that if he knows her name then he might be tempted to go find her. She has already seen what happens to the men who do, and she is not willing to risk him to the same fate. "She is dangerous. You must not seek her." She steps away from him and sits back down on her bench, trying to calm the unexplainable tremors in her hands. She picks up her abandoned notebook to occupy them.

Still standing, he gives her a strange look - a mixture of confusion and skepticism. "Wait, hold up." He shakes his head, his hand gesturing towards where Minerva only recently passed into the shadows. "You think I'd actually go _looking_ for her?"

She tilts her head, regarding him curiously. He is upset, she can tell, but she doesn't understand why. "She is beautiful," she says simply. She has seen many men fall to Minerva's dark charm, she has seen even more simply fall. She feels that her warning is justified.

Natsu seems stunned. "So are you!" he blurts. The moment the words pass his lips, color floods to his cheeks. "I mean, that is – well. Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair, looking away from her in embarrassment. "And, you know, even if you weren't ... she's obviously a bitch to you. So ..."

She blinks. It's been many years since she has seen herself in a mirror, but she remembers that she is pretty. What she doesn't understand is how Minerva's treatment of her should affect anything. "Why does that matter?"

He looks at her like she is stupid. "Because you're my friend! Like, maybe even my best friend." He sits down next to her, his arm brushing up against her elbow as he shakes his head. His eyes are dark, serious and edged with determination. "Luce ... I wouldn't just abandon you like that. Not _ever_."

She doesn't know what to say. His words have made a phantom ache bloom in her chest, but it hurts in a good sort of way. It almost feels like she has a heart.

Natsu fidgets under her stare, a look of anxious embarrassment passing over his features. "You, uh, feel the same way ... right?" He gives a weak little laugh, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and his shoulders hunching. "I mean, it's not just me?"

She has the sudden strange desire to touch him, to feel his warmth beneath her fingers, so she takes his hand in hers. There are calluses on his palms that speak of physical labor and scars on his knuckles that seem to be reminiscent of old fist fights. They are flawed, hot and sweaty in her own cool palm, but Lucy thinks they are more beautiful because of it. She examines them closely, tracing over every puckered scar, every earned callus before her fingers slip between his experimentally. It feels different but good – warm in ways more than just temperature.

Her eyes lift to his. His face is flushed, his lips slightly parted. He seems to be searching for an answer in the lines of her face so she gives him one in words just in case he can't find it from her expression. "It is not just you."

The relieved smile he gives her is soft, almost tender, but it still somehow makes the lamp light seem dim in comparison.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Happy Halloween! Hope you enjoyed this holiday themed chapter (and the quick update)! The next update may take a while – I got to focus on the next chapters of "The Good Dog" and "Ignite", plus a one shot or two for the Jerza Love Fest (cause I seriously need to work on expanding my OTP horizons). Shouldn't be more than a month wait though. ;)

As always, if you like it enough to fav/follow then _please_ take an extra moment or two to leave some feedback!


	5. Sorriso Per Me (Smile For Me)

_._

_._

_"Sounds of laughter, shades of life are ringing through my open ears_

_Inciting and inviting me_

_Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns_

_It calls me on and on, across the universe_

_Jai Guru Deva OM"_

_- The Beatles, "Across the Universe"_

* * *

><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

**To the Flame**

**Chapter #5: Sorriso Per Me**

_**(Smile For Me)**_

**(:)(A)(:)**

* * *

><p>Her head is bowed over her notebook, her pen trailing faithfully across the page, when she feels him hovering over her. She was concentrating so much on her words that she forgot to hear his footsteps. Her pen pauses mid sentence, and her chin tilts up to look at him, concerned that he has not taken his spot beside her like he normally does. The prick of worry is soothed by his easy grin.<p>

"Hey," he greets, his eyes gleaming with sly amusement. "I was wondering when you were going to notice me! Usually you catch me before I can sneak up on you." This is true. He has tried (and failed) several times to arrive without her noticing, but has never succeeded until tonight. If it is not his footsteps that give himself away, it is his heartbeat. It is unnerving to her that it took her so long to recognize his presence – it is not like her.

It is even more unnerving that he is still standing.

The little area between her brows puckers, her head tilting as she looks up at him questioningly. "You are not sitting." He always sits beside her, always nudges her shoulder with his and greets her with a sunshine smile and bright eyes. Now, without him next to her, her side feels unnaturally cold.

His grin widens, and he shoves his hands casually in his sweatshirt pocket. "Yeah, about that. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come with me to meet some friends? There's this really cool bar –"

"Away from here?" she asks, interrupting him. Something that feels like anxiety buzzes under her skin at the thought of leaving.

His nose crinkles, and he gives an amused little snort of laughter. "Well, yeah. Not really any bars in the park – at least, not any legal ones." He holds out a hand to her, palm facing upwards in warm invitation. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

A worried frown pulls at her mouth, her fingers gripping the edges of her notebook for assurance. She stares at the offered hand regretfully. "But ... this is my bench."

His smile falters, his hand lowering in disappointment. She can tell by the furrowed line of his brow that he is struggling to understand. "Yeah, but ... don't you ever want to, you know, go somewhere _other_ than here?"

She shakes her head. This is her bench, her park. It is the place she belongs.

For a moment he just stands there, staring down at her with disappointed confusion, and then he is taking her cold hands in his and coaxing her up. "Baby steps then, yeah?" Another grin is creeping at the corners of his mouth. "We can play on the swings!"

She hesitates, still unsure, but the warmth of his hands and the eagerness in his smile persuade her. The swing set is only a few yards away, visible from her bench. She tells herself it is ok, even though she feels an uncomfortable pull in her gut as Natsu enthusiastically leads her to the empty swing. When she sits on the seat it feels strange, the thick band of black rubber grips her hips tightly, and she misses the grooved wooden planks of her bench as she fidgets.

Natsu snakes behind her, his energy humming at her back as his hands grasp the chains on either side of her. "I'll push you!" he exclaims, a childlike exuberance lighting his voice. Her neck cranes back, looking up at him. She is greeted by his wide grin, but she doesn't understand his excitement. "How high do you want to go?"

She shrugs and feels her oversized jacket shift; feels the cool night air brush against the junction of her neck and shoulder. Above her, she sees something flicker in Natsu's expression as his eyes trail over the newly exposed skin. His smile wanes, his hand sliding from the chain and gently pushing the lapel of her jacket aside inquisitively.

"Damn," he murmurs, brow creased. His fingers ghost across the skin of her neck and shoulder. She feels her body tense at the sensation, but he doesn't seem to notice. He is too preoccupied staring thoughtfully at where the tips of his fingers trace her skin. "That's one hell of a scar..."

She covers the puckered skin self consciously, her gaze sliding away from him and lingering at her bench. The raised skin feels bitter against her palm. She has forgotten that it was even there. She doesn't even know what it looks like, only how it feels – how it aches.

His hand returns to the chain, but Lucy can still feel the heat of his fingers leaving a phantom brand on her skin. "Luce, where'd you get that?" There is a strange depth to his voice, one that, underneath the concern, holds a veiled threat. She doesn't know why it is upsetting to him, all she knows is that the subdued edge in his question isn't directed at her.

The corners of her mouth tighten before she can really evaluate why – the action is instinctive. "I don't remember," she murmurs. She doesn't. Whenever she thinks of the ragged scar at her shoulder her entire body seems to tense and her mind rebels. Something inside her whispers to simply let it be, so she does.

Behind her, Natsu is silent for a moment before he gives her a gentle push, his hands caressing her shoulder blades like warm wings. "Really? Did you get it when you were little or something?"

She shrugs, swinging her feet to help the swing's momentum. The feeling of the air whipping past her face, tangling her hair, makes her smile. She is glad that Natsu convinced her to leave her bench, if only for a moment. "I don't remember."

She hears him murmur a baffled, "weird" before he gives her another push. Her smile widens. "What about yours?" She asks.

"Mine?" He sounds confused.

"The scar on your neck." She remembers seeing it once, the night he was complaining about having forgotten his scarf. It was as thick as her finger and just as long, and pale with age. She has always been curious about it, has always wanted to know its story, but has always forgotten to ask, until now.

"Oh," he says. There is a baffled frown coloring his voice. "I'm surprised you even noticed it. I got it when I was a kid. Gray dared me to try to do this jump off my Dad's roof, and I didn't exactly land it." Another push, a heavy pause. Lucy's eyes travel from her bench, to the night sky. She looks for her friends and spies Aries smiling down at her. Natsu's voice, a muttering that seems more to himself than to her, distracts her and keeps her from smiling back. "Pops was so mad, he chewed me out the entire ride to the ER..."

There is something sad and wistful in his tone that makes something in her squirm uncomfortably. Her rubber soled toes – black rain boots that she found abandoned with some other clothes in front of a house the other night – dig into the playground bark until she slows to a stop.

When she turns to look up at him he regards her curiously. "What? Get bored?"

She shakes her head. "You sound sad." It is not right, it is not _Natsu_ to sound like that. It is wrong and it makes her feel disjointed.

For a moment he stares at her, mouth opening and closing silently as he fishes for the right words. He rubs the back of his neck and avoids her eyes. "Uh, yeah. I guess I just miss him, you know?"

She frowns. "He is gone?"

"Yeah ..." He sighs, in the cold she can see it curl away from his mouth like a ghost before fading into nothing. He moves around her to sit on the neighboring swing. The metal chain squeaks obnoxiously as he kicks distractedly at the bark. "He's gone."

He sounds so very dejected, and the wince that overtakes his face speaks so much of pain, that Lucy feels the uncomfortable need to fix it. Her gaze traces Aries smile, and she finds herself wondering if perhaps there are more faces in the stars that she hasn't met. Gently, she touches his hand to get his attention before pointing at the wide expanse of clear night sky framed by the naked limbs of trees. "Maybe he is up there?"

The bridge of his nose wrinkles skeptically. "In... the sky?"

She nods, chin tilting up and pale face reflecting the moonlight. "'When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night,'" she murmurs, stars reflecting in her eyes. She gives Natsu a soft smile. "Maybe someone cut him into stars so that you can visit him."

Understanding lights his eyes, and he ducks his head with bitter smile. "Ah, no. I don't think so. He's not – well, he's not dead. At least, not as far as I know. He just ... left. I don't know where he is now." He gave a little snort of laughter, his eyes lifting to meet hers with amusement. "Gotta say, you'd make one hell of a Rafiki though. For a second I thought Pops was going to pop out of the sky and start lecturing me."

She blinks, head tilting. "Rafiki?"

"Yeah, you know, from _The Lion King_?" When she continues to look confused his shoulders slump, and he shakes his head in amazement. "We seriously need to get you out more, Luce."

She frowns, feeling insulted. "I am out."

His lips twitch at the corners, as if he is trying to withhold a smile. "Right. Sorry." He eyes her curiously. "So where'd you hear that? The whole thing about the stars?"

She pushes herself off the ground with her toe and swings softly, calmed by the gentle rocking. "I read it." It is in one of the battered, torn up books that she keeps on her shelf. She had found it next to a garbage bin by the school, its cover torn cruelly from its binding, and its pages curling from being exposed to the frost. She has poured over those withered pages, fallen in love with the painted words, and memorized her favorites. She still feels a hollow ache when she turns to the last page and finds the story incomplete. The artful prose, severed mid sentence, hangs heavy and silent – like a life cut short.

Natsu shoves his hands in his sweatshirt pocket, arms looped around the chains. He chuckles. "Guess I should have expected that much at least. What book?"

A soft little smile paints her lips, her answer a longing sigh, "_Romeo and Juliet_."

He rolls his eyes, but there is an amused smile tilting the corner of his mouth. "Of course. Never understood why girls always went gaga for that one. I hated it in high school."

Hope blooms unexpectedly in her chest. "You know it?" she asks, tentative longing coloring her voice.

Natsu gives her a strange look, seeming confused by her sudden eagerness. "Well, yeah. I mean, I don't go quoting it or anything, but it's mandatory reading for juniors."

He knows it. Excitement hums under her skin, making her fidget. In her boots, her toes curl with giddy anticipation, her hand clasping the cotton sleeve of his sweatshirt in a silent plea. "How does it end?"

He blinks, shifting uneasily under her scrutiny. "Uh, is this a trick question?"

"Trick?" Her excitement dims in the face of his skepticism. "Why would I trick you?"

"I don't know." He shrugs, looking confused. "Why would you ask me how it ends?"

Her lips purse. "Because I don't know ..." Natsu's brow furrows and Lucy can tell that he still doesn't understand. "On the last page, Friar tells Juliet he will send a letter to Romeo. Does he get it?"

"Wait," he holds up his hands, looking at her incredulously, "that's your last page?"

"The ending was stolen," she says softly, as means of confirmation.

He shakes his head, eyeing her with baffled amusement. "Let me get this straight. The copy you have is missing the ending? Like, was it ripped out, or was that how it was printed?"

"Someone broke it."

He rubs his face. "Probably should have just tossed it," he mumbles. Then, seeing her horrified expression, he waves his hands in a placating gesture. "Kidding! Just kidding! That would be, uh, bad?" Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his head, his eyes searching hers. "You really don't know how it ends?"

She shakes her head. It has haunted her for a long time; not knowing the ending. Sometimes she tries to imagine what happens next, but it is too much like painting futures, and she finds that she can't bring herself to finish someone else's masterpiece.

He seems to hesitate, a thoughtful frown pulling at his brows. Slowly, a smile replaces it. "He gets the letter," he says, eyes warm. "They run away together and live happily ever after."

A smile, wider than any she can remember, tightens her cheeks and makes them sore with happiness. "I am glad," she breathes, a feeling of completion filling her breast. When she looks up at Natsu, he is staring at her – mouth parted and eyes glazed with wonder. She doesn't understand what would cause such an expression. "Natsu?"

She sees the way his throat bobs when he swallows. "Nothing, sorry. Just, it's nice to see you smile, is all." He tugs sheepishly at the end of his scarf, his eyes flicking to meet hers in nervous embarrassment. His cheeks look suspiciously pink, but in the pale moonlight she can't be sure."You should do it more often."

She doesn't understand, but she continues to smile anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> First of all, a _huge_ thanks to Madartiste for being my beta and muse! She is an absolute angel, and really helped me elevate the language and figure out some of the finer points of this fic!

I do feel like I should warn you ... things are going to get a bit rough in the upcoming chapters (in the emotional sense). Things are going to get worse before it gets better. So, yeah, buckle up your seat belts.

As always, I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts on this chapter (and the story as a whole)! Also, feel free to hit me up on my tumblr anytime! :)


	6. Mi Sono Persa (I Am Lost)

_._

_._

_"I tried to remember the chorus,_

_I can't remember the verse_

_'Cause that song that sent me swimming,_

_Is now the life jacket that burst_

_Rotting like a wreck on the ocean floor,_

_Sinking like a siren that can't swim anymore_

_'Cause our songs remind me of swimming,_

_But I can't swim anymore"_

_- Florence and the Machine, "Swimming"_

* * *

><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

**To the Flame**

**Chapter #6: Mi Sono Persa**

_**(I Am Lost)**_

**(:)(A)(:)**

* * *

><p>She begins to forget things.<p>

It is a slow process, one that starts with the mere fumbling of words that tease the tip of her tongue but adamantly refuse to pass her lips. The familiar threads that she uses to weave her stories begin to thicken until they no longer resemble fine silk threads, but rather coarse, scratchy yarn. Soon the fibers begin to knot and tangle, and she finds herself struggling to separate the heavy, awkward strands.

She tries to ignore it, hides it under shadowed smiles, and for a while Natsu doesn't seem to see the change in her. When she asks him to supply her with the words she's lost he does so with a smile, always so happy to be of help. It makes her feel better, less inept, when he has to pull out his phone to consult Google for assistance (she does not know who this Google person is, but she is always grateful for his seemingly infinite knowledge). It is only when he finds her staring at a blank page, frustration pulling at her mouth, that she sees his brows crease with the tiniest hint of concern. She doesn't tell him that she can't remember how to start. Instead, she smiles up at him with warmth as artificial as the light above them and says she can't decide which story to tell.

His relieved smile makes swallowing the bitter taste of the lie worth it.

The act of forgetting is not new to her – some things are not worth remembering – but lately it feels like she is living on half formed thoughts. It is the night she can't remember which room is hers that she is forced to recognize there is a problem. She sits in the deserted hallway as the sun moves from one end of the earth to the other, trying to recall what she is suppose to remember. She knows something is wrong, but she doesn't know what. Scattered thoughts drift listlessly around her head, fluttering like broken little birds that can no longer sing. Sometimes she goes to read but finds that she can't remember how.

Sometimes she stares at the pages so long she forgets that words exist at all.

She remembers Natsu, though. He is the one thing she refuses to let break and fall away. Every morning she sits on the floor with her knees tucked to her chest and forces herself to recall his every detail. She remembers him to the point where he becomes more instinct than memory. She knows him the way she knows that the park bench facing the playground is hers.

She begins to catch him giving her contemplating glances that are reminiscent of worry. It seems to have become a habit now, she sees it so frequently. She hides her fractured thoughts as much as she can behind little painted smiles, but soon finds herself forgetting what it is she's hiding at all. It seems as if he comes to see her more often, but she can't be sure – the nights are bleeding into each other, and without words to measure she is lost.

Tonight, she sees Natsu waiting for her. His knee bounces impatiently (another habit of his she has forced into memory) while he peers into the darkness. She can always tell when he sees her. His shoulders seem to relax, and his mouth always curls into a welcoming smile. Lately, the warm look in his eye seems to speak of relief, but she doesn't understand why.

As she steps into the light, his gaze travels down and he frowns in confusion. "Where's your notebook?"

She looks down at her empty hands, confused. Her notebook? Yes, that's right – she has many that line the walls of the room she goes back to every morning. Pages full of stories. Stories that she used to write when she remembered how.

A hollow ache settles in her breast. "It ... it is broken." She knows it isn't. The notebook is sitting on the shelf completely intact and whole. _She _is the one who is broken, but she remembers that he was unhappy the last time she told him that particular truth, so she doesn't remind him.

"Broken?" he repeats, brow creasing as he moves over so that she can sit beside him. "How? Did the wire snap or something?"

Hesitantly, she nods before sitting next to him. As she sits, the warmth radiating off his body gives her a sense of familiar comfort. Still, there is a distressing emptiness in her breast that lingers like an unpleasant aftertaste whenever she looks down at her barren hands.

He nudges her shoulder gently with his own. "Hey, don't worry!" When she looks up, he is gifting her with a sympathetic smile. "I'll get you another one, alright?"

She tries to smile, but her mouth feels as heavy as her chest. Seeing the way his expression wavers, she knows that she isn't at all convincing. His hand grips her shoulder lightly, giving a gentle squeeze that is suppose to be reassuring. "Hey, it's alright. Don't go crying on me," he murmurs. His eyes are dark with concern, but he gives her a strained smile anyway. "I'm _really_ not good at that kind of stuff."

Cry? Her hands reach up to her cheeks. They are dry. "I'm not."

His smile falters, and he looks at her carefully. "I know, it's just – you looked like you were about to." He releases her shoulder and rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "I wasn't kidding you know, about that whole not being good at that sort of thing." He winces, giving her a timid smile. "I'd probably be totally useless if you started up the waterworks."

She doesn't want him to feel useless. It is a feeling she is too familiar with, and she doesn't want him to suffer from it like she does. "I don't remember how to," she admits softly. She looks down at her lap, her fingers straying to brush against her bottom eyelashes thoughtfully. "I don't think I can."

He blinks, head tilting as he tries to untangle her words and reorder them into something he can understand. "Cry?" he clarifies. When she nods, he laughs lightly, running his hand through his hair and giving her a warm smile. "Well that's a relief … I don't want you to cry."

A rare memory pulls at her, but the details part like mist between her grasping fingers. "Crying makes you human," she murmurs. Someone use to tell her that … She can still hear the phantom echoes of a soft, feminine voice dancing listlessly across her memory, but both face and name escape her.

Natsu pauses, hesitant and solemn in his response. "Yeah, I guess you're right." His mouth quirks into a soft smile, but it's warmth is weighed down by the solemn look in his gaze. "I just don't want you to have any reason to."

She doesn't remind him that, for her, tears are impossible. He didn't understand the first time she said it, and she knows he still won't understand the second time either. There are some things that Natsu will never understand, no matter how many times she repeats herself. He lives in the sun where things are clear, he has not learned to see in the dark like she has.

Looking down at her hands, she wonders why they look so empty.

Natsu's callused fingers encase hers, his touch burning hot and his face pinched with concern. "Luce, is everything ok?"

No, it's not. She has always been broken but she has never felt so lost – at least, she doesn't think she has. If she has then she has forgotten it along with everything else. "I am fine," she answers. It is another lie, this one tasting more bitter than the last.

He shifts restlessly. The look on his face tells her that he isn't inclined to believe her. "You're sure? You've been acting really …" He hesitates for a moment, fishing for the right word before shaking his head. "You just seem different."

She doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't say anything. She doesn't have the words to comfort him, doesn't know what vowels to string together to make it better. Around them the darkness seems to inch closer despite the lamp lights steady glow.

When she remains silent, Natsu squeezes her hand. "Look, you don't have to talk to me about it if you don't want to, alright? I won't – I'm not going to force you or anything. But if there's anything I can do, you'll tell me right?" He is so desperately hopeful that she finds herself nodding in agreement before she can think better of it. The relief in his smile is worth the weight of the promise.

She leans her head against his shoulder, comforted by his warmth under her cheek. "Tell me a story?" There is a pleading lilt to her voice that makes her words more of a question than a demand.

"You're way better at it than I am," he mumbles. She feels his cheek rest against her hair. "You sure you don't want me to just help you pick something? You can always write it down later."

Careful, as to avoid dislodging either of them from the cozy place they have found in each other, she shakes her head. "No," she says. She doesn't trust herself to tell stories anymore. She is too afraid that she will make them as broken as she is. "I just want to listen."

"Alright," he mutters, sounding uncomfortable. She feels him fidget. "Uh, how about a story about a princess? Girls like princesses right?"

A smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. She will like anything as long as she can hear it in his rich timber. "Yes."

He tells her a story about cursed spinning wheels and a princess that is doomed to sleep until true love comes to wake her with a kiss. There is an evil sorceress who turns into a fearsome dragon with scales darker than oil and breathes "wicked awesome" green fire. The prince battles both nature and beast in order to save his princess. Lucy listens attentively, eyes staring out at nothing as his words wrap around her limbs and ensnare her – she is his willing prisoner.

He ends, as always, with "they lived happily ever after." Above them the street lamp hums, and a moth taps eagerly at the glass in a futile effort to get closer to the light.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Lets play the _"Which Line Is More Heartbreaking"_ game!

I warned you guys that things were going to get a bit rough, right? I'm curious if anyone predicted something along these lines? This chapter is a bit shorter, but the next one should be longer than the rest so I figure that will make up for it, right?

Thanks as always to Madartiste for being my wicked awesome beta and everyone who reviewed and gave feedback last chapter! This fic has become my pride and joy, and I'm so thankful to everyone who has given it a chance! I hope to hear your thoughts on this chapter! I'm just dying to know what you guys think!


	7. Fidati Di Me (Trust Me)

_._

_._

_And I would give all this and heaven too,_

_I would give it all if only for a moment,_

_That I could just understand_

_The meaning of the word, you see,_

_'Cause I've been scrawling it forever,_

_But it never makes sense to me at all._

_- Florence and the Machine, "All This and Heaven Too"_

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><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

**To the Flame**

**Chapter #7: Fidati Di Me**

_**(Trust Me)**_

**(:)(A)(:)**

* * *

><p>It is raining. It is not a harsh storm; the water comes down steadily but it lacks ferocity. She is more saddened by the clouds preventing her from visiting with her star-faced friends than the way her clothes are becoming heavy with rain. She feels like it has been forever since she last spoke to them, but she can't be sure. She can't remember.<p>

The rain rolls down her face and makes her hair stick wetly to her neck. She wishes to write but she is afraid the water will make the words bleed from the pages. Then she remembers that her hands are empty – she has not brought her notebook with her since the night she forgot how to use words...

The rain is beautiful though. It makes the lamp light spread until it looks like the pavers are made of gold. Or maybe it is yellow? She vaguely remembers that there is a story about a yellow brick road but she can't remember the details – she only remembers that it went somewhere … somewhere happy where broken things could be fixed.

She tilts her face up towards the darkened sky, closes her eyes and lets the rain kiss her cheeks. She thinks it is a good feeling, like the softest of touches from friends long since passed. She feels like it has been a long time since she felt the gentle touch of anyone other than Natsu. His touches feel much different though – they are always warm, always full of care. When she feels Natsu's hands against her fingers, against her face, she feels something in her stir. He makes her feel safe and cared for.

The rain reminds her that she is alive, but Natsu makes her feel like she is not alone.

Unexpectedly the water stops tapping against her skin, and she looks up to find Natsu frowning down at her and holding a beat up umbrella over her head. He is so busy protecting her that he doesn't even seem to notice that he has left himself exposed. She watches in concerned fascination as water rolls down his neck before disappearing beneath his scarf. She wants to ask him if it feels cold, but he speaks before her tongue can form the words. His voice is strained and heavy with apprehension. "You shouldn't be out here in the rain, Luce. You could get really sick."

She doesn't tell him that disease, like time, is another thing that can not touch her. Instead she only reminds him, "This is my bench."

He sighs, and she can tell that he is exasperated with her. "Yeah, I know. Your bench, got it." His eyes scan her face, his brow creased with concern. He seems to be thinking carefully over something. "Why don't you come stay with me tonight? Get out of the rain?"

She bites her lip, hesitant to leave her place of rest. She has never gone anywhere else at night.

Natsu seems to sense her concern. "It'll still be there in the morning." He takes her hand in his, his skin burning hot against her damp palm. "You can even see it from my window." Still, she hesitates, and he gives her a gentle squeeze. His eyes and words are pleading. "Please, Luce. I can't leave you out here."

But … everything she knows is here. She feels safe here – her _bench_ is here. She is scared, but Natsu is looking at her as if he is afraid she will break in front of him. She does not want him to be afraid, not for her. Fear tastes like copper – sharp, metallic, and burning hot. She does not wish to put such a terrible taste in his mouth. She does not wish to make him worry even more.

When she finally nods, he wastes no time coaxing her up from her seat and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Even through their clothing Lucy can feel the heat that seeps off his skin. He curses. "Damn it, Luce, you're freezing ..." He begins to rub at her arm and shoulder, drawing her even closer to him as the umbrella struggles to shield them both. "Come on, we need to get you home before you catch something."

He guides her away from her bench, away from her park. She stops many times to look back, but he continues to usher her forward with gentle words of encouragement. When they arrive at the oversized doors of his building she freezes. It feels wrong. It all feels wrong. Her sanctuary is behind her when this building before her is too unknown. Natsu's hand on her shoulder squeezes softly in what she knows is suppose to be encouragement. It makes her feel trapped instead.

"Luce, Luce look at me." She does, but only because he is Natsu. Only because if she turns and runs now she knows he will follow. His brow is drawn in concern, but his eyes are intense as stares down at her. "It's ok, everything is going to be fine. You're bench will still be there, I promise. Come on, we'll go in together."

Her teeth sink into her lip. She still does not want to enter the strange building, but as Natsu gently leads her through the doors she realizes that she simply can't deny him. He releases her briefly to collapse and shake the umbrella, and Lucy immediately misses the comfort of his warm embrace. Natsu must know, because the moment he is done he reaches out for her and brings her tightly against his side. They go up several flights of stairs – she counts up to three before she loses track. With the way he is holding her it is an awkward climb, but Lucy is relieved when he doesn't let her go. Natsu murmurs an apology and something about maintenance never getting around fixing the elevator. By the time they leave the stairwell, her nerves have settled. The monotony of the steps combined with Natsu's warm grasp has eased her fear into anticipation. Curiosity stirs and tickles the back of her mind as Natsu stops in front of one of the doors lining the hallway. There is a paint chipped number hanging, tilted, on the face of the door, but she can't remember what it is called or what it means.

Natsu turns the handle and pushes it open roughly with his shoulder. The wooden door groans but opens readily in the face of his treatment. He walks through the open doorway and chucks the abused umbrella into a corner before his eyes seek hers.

She pauses in the hall and he stares back at her in confusion, noticing her hesitancy. "You coming?"

"You didn't invite me in."

He blinks before an amused grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. Holding the door open, he gives her an exaggerated bow and clears his throat with a cough. "Forgive me, Princess, won't you _please_ come in?"

She nods, deciding to ignore his strange behavior, and steps over the threshold. The word 'princess' jogs something in her brain. "That's what Virgo calls me," she says absently, her eyes scanning over his apartment. It's a mess. There are clothes and dirty dishes scattered everywhere and there is a musty quality to the air that is reminiscent of mold. Underneath a pile of laundry she can see a full sized bed in the corner. In the kitchen she suspects there is a sink hiding underneath a mountain of dishes. Somehow though, it still has a comforting feel to it despite the clutter. She thinks it might be because it is Natsu's.

"Virgo?" he asks, shutting the door with a heavy thud. "She a friend of yours?"

She nods, eyes tracing longingly over a lopsided bookshelf in the corner. Most of it's shelves house assorted knick knacks that hold no meaning to her, but she spies several well worn books scattered haphazardly amongst the clutter. "Yes. I was hoping to see her today, but the clouds came instead."

"Well, at least one of you is smart enough to stay out of the rain," he mumbles, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it over the arm of what she guessed was a dining room chair. "She live around here?"

"No," she answers, shaking her head. "She lives in the sky with the other stars."

He pauses in unwrapping his scarf. "Oh ... I, uh, bet the view is great up there."

She hums in agreement, gaze still fluttering and lingering on random objects in the room before landing on the oversized window. She moves towards it and finds herself looking out over her park. From here she can see her bench framed by two large oaks, the golden glow of the streetlight makes it shine. Relief floods through her. She wouldn't know what to do if it had disappeared.

"See? I told you you'd be able to see it," he says, coming to stand next to her. A moment later she feels his hand at her elbow. "Here, give me your coat."

She tilts her head, a confused frown pulling at her lips. "Why?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Because it's soaked?"

She looks down at herself. He is right – her light cotton jacket is heavy with water. She hadn't noticed before. Mindlessly, she begins to undo the buttons and allows him to help her in sliding the fabric off her shoulders. When she is rid of it his frown deepens. "Shit, Luce, even your clothes underneath are soaked through. How long were you out there?"

She shrugs, unconcerned. "I had no words to measure time."

He shakes his head, worry darkening his eyes. "I don't know what that means, Luce..." She remains silent, because she does not know how to explain it any better, and he sighs. "Never mind. Let's just concentrate on getting you warm and dry, ok?"

Not knowing what else to do, she nods.

"Come on. Let's get you into a warm bath, and then you can borrow some of my clothes for the night." Gently, he grasps her hand and leads her down the hall where one of only a few doors hangs partially open. The bathroom is – not _clean_ – but not as cluttered as the front room either. She suspects that the tiles are white under the thin layer of grime that has dusted over them. The mirror greets her with the empty image of the wall behind her, just like the one in her room. Lucy steps forward and ignores its taunting while Natsu leans over the tub and fiddles with the knobs. She watches curiously as water gushes out of the faucet at his command. After a few moments of letting it flow over his hand, steam starts to rise. He adjusts once more before plugging the bottom.

The abandoned building she calls home does not have running water – she cannot remember the last time that 'bathing' meant more than a rag and a bucket of water stolen from a neighboring hose. She can almost feel the warmth of the steam rising up from the water. Natsu sits on the edge of the tub and gestures her forward. She complies eagerly. "Is this temperature ok? Not too hot?" he asks. She submerges her hand. Against her cold flesh the water is scalding, but it feels so wonderfully warm she only sighs in pleasure.

"I can go in?" she asks, looking to the pink haired main with pleading eyes. It has been so long since she has felt warm. She wants to be surrounded by it.

The smile he gives her is soft. It matches his eyes. "Yeah, Luce. I made it for you." He stands and sets his hands on her shoulders. Through the thin fabric of her shirt she can feel the calluses lining his palms. "I'm going to go get you some clothes for you to change into, ok? I'll be back in just a second."

Nodding her understanding, he gives her shoulders a soft squeeze before leaving her alone in the tiled wash room. She stares down at the water and the steam beckons her like an old friend. Without hesitation, she pulls her shirt above her head, slips her skirt and undergarments off her hips and down her legs, and steps into the welcoming heat. For a moment it stings against her marble skin, but it is soon soothed away and she is left enveloped in delicious heat. The sensation draws a little moan from her throat. The water is only coming up to her mid calf and already it feels so wonderful.

Natsu's voice carries from the hallway, growing closer with his footsteps. "I don't know if the shorts will fit y-" He stops abruptly, his figure frozen in the doorway and his mouth gaping uselessly at her while his hands limply hold onto the clothes he brought. "You ..." Looking at him over her shoulder, she can see him swallow thickly, his eyes dragging down her body as if in a drugged daze.

After a moment she starts to turn, thinking that perhaps she is suppose to retrieve the clothes herself, but the action seems to startle him, and suddenly he is a blushing, stumbling mess. He spins away from her so quickly that his elbow catches the doorway with an audible _crack_.

"_**Shit**_!" he curses, dropping the clothing and clutching the bruised appendage. "_Shit_. I'm so sorry! I didn't –" he groans, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "Damn it. Didn't you hear me say I was coming back?"

"Yes," she answers, not sure why his voice sounds so strained. She wonders if it is because his elbow hurts.

"So why didn't you _wait_?"

He is still staring at the ceiling, but after a cursory glance Lucy can't figure out what is so interesting about it. "I was suppose to wait?" she asks absently, looking down at her submerged feet. She doesn't want to leave the warm water, but she will if Natsu says she is suppose to.

He laughs, but for some reason it doesn't sound funny. He runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah Luce. Or at least close the door."

Oh. Was that all? She forgot doors were suppose to close. How silly of her. She begins to step out of the tub but instead of relaxing, Natsu only seems to tense up more.

"_Not now_!" He exclaims, one hand slapping over his eyes. She pauses, unsure of what he wants from her. "Fuck, Luce, you're killing me here," he groans, sounding pained.

A chill runs through her despite the warmth she's absorbed from the water. It grips her heart with fear and she tastes phantom traces of copper on her tongue. "But I don't want to!" she cries. Her voice rings in the small room, bouncing off the tiles and echoing through her chest.

For a moment it looks like he is going to turn around, but he seems to stop himself. "No – I didn't mean – " He sighs, rubbing his temples. "Not _literally_. It's just, you're making it really hard –" he pauses, seeming to rethink his words. "Uh, I mean – shit." He takes a deep breath. "It's really ... difficult for me to talk to you when you're naked, ok?"

She doesn't understand. "Why?"

He snorts. "Call me crazy, but it might have something to do with you being beautiful."

She blinks, looking down at her body. She is beautiful? She had forgotten … "I don't understand," she mutters, her brow furrowing. "If I am beautiful then why did you turn away?" Don't people admire pretty things?

His breath comes out sounding strangled, and he leans bonelessly in the doorway. For a while he is silent, and Lucy wonders if perhaps he didn't hear her. When he finally answers his voice is low and full of an emotion she can't name. She wishes she could see his face. "Because you aren't mine to stare at." He bends down and picks the clothes up from the floor. "Are you still in the tub?"

Lucy frowns, still pondering over his words as she answers, "Yes."

He nods. "Good. Why don't you stay in there and close that curtain around you, ok?"

She looks to her left, seeing the opaque plastic curtain he was referring to. Her hands clasp the edge and pull it across. The plastic rings click across the bar in a cacophony of sounds until her vision of Natsu is fogged by plastic.

"Is it closed?"

She nods before remembering that he is not looking at her. "Yes."

"All the way?"

"Yes."

She hears him release a long, drawn out breath before his blurred form turns and approaches the tub. He sets something on the toilet seat. The closer he is, the more she can make out his fuzzy features. She can tell that he still isn't facing her directly when he mutters, "You can lay down in the water, Luce."

She doesn't make him tell her again. With excruciating patience, she sinks into the water with a delighted sigh. It is so warm that it makes her ache with pleasure.

"You can use the shampoo and everything, ok?" he says softly. She hums her agreement, cupping the steaming water in her hand and languidly letting it slip through her fingers. "When you're done there's a towel and some clothes for you to change into... Keep the door closed until you're dressed."

She watches him move away from her, the soles of his socked feet slapping softly against the tile as he reaches the doorway. Embraced by the warm water, she feels something in her stir. "Natsu?" The sound of his footsteps pause, and she knows he is waiting for her to continue. His words from earlier still nag at her – she still doesn't understand, but she _wants_ to. She wants to so badly, because if she understood then maybe she could soothe away the edge of hurt that laced his voice. "I don't think I would mind being yours," she says softly. She doesn't know what it means, but she knows that he makes her feel warm and happy. Natsu takes care of her, makes her smile. She is sure that being his cannot be a bad thing.

For a moment there is silence, but she knows he is still there. She can make out the pink of his hair through the hazy plastic curtain separating them. "Luce … you trust me, right?"

She doesn't even have to think about it. Her mind is a tangled web of knots and snipped threads, but this is something she knows with every fiber of her being. "Yes." Natsu is the only one she trusts. He is the only one she would ever leave her bench for.

"That's why I can't."

She frowns, sinking further into the waters warm embrace until it tickles her chin. "I still don't understand."

"I know," he answers, voice soft and full of regret. "Just … it would be wrong, Luce. Even if you didn't realize it, if I took you up on what you're offering … It would be wrong. I'd be betraying your trust, and I won't do that. I won't _hurt you _like that." He pauses, and for a long moment there is only heavy silence between them. Lucy doesn't like it, but she doesn't know what to say so she says nothing. Eventually she hears him murmur a reminder to make sure she dresses before coming out of the bathroom before the door clicks shut.

Alone and surrounded by hot water, with the steam fogging her vision and warming her lungs, she still doesn't understand.

She can't imagine how anything that makes Natsu happy could ever be wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thanks as always to the wonderful madartiste for catching my mountain of spelling and grammatical errors this chapter! Don't know what I'd do without her!

Thank you so much to those of you who have left such wonderful feedback! It never fails to brighten my day and inspire me to pick up the pen – er, keyboard. Look forward to some plot development the next few chapters!

As always, I'm _dying_ to know what you think! (See what I did there? Dying? Vampires? …. Shutting up now.)

Amichaelala: Hope you enjoyed the booty! ;D ARRRGH!


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